


The Misfit

by anodyna



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Female Protagonist, Gen, Gen Fic, Vulcan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anodyna/pseuds/anodyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adolescence is difficult, even for Vulcans.  A trying moment in the friendship of Spock, Son of Sarek, and T'Vhan, "daughter of Andor, misfit of Vulcan."</p><p>Written for the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/67767.html">Where No Woman new year drabblefest,</a> for prompt #14: <i>"He—for there could be no doubt of his sex, though the fashion of the time did something to disguise it—was in the act of slicing at the head of a Moor which swung from the rafters."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misfit

T'Vhan is not frustrated. Frustration is an illogical emotion, indulged in by those who refuse to accept the limitations of their own abilities. Anger is also illogical. Proper Vulcan girls do not experience anger.

T'Vhan is a proper Vulcan girl. Therefore she knows it cannot be anger that is behind the urge she feels, when she finally locates Spock, working at a table in his family's garden, to get his attention by throwing a rock.

It is no matter. There are no suitable rocks available. Instead, she waits until she is within a few yards of him, then says his name loudly: "S'chn T'gai Spock!"

He looks up from his work, surprised. T'Vhan sees now that she has disturbed him at drawing. On the table before him there is a [_kidik-mathra_]() in a specimen box, its iridescent blue wings magnified to abstraction by the lens in the top. Spock has been engaged in drawing it, in preparation for using the paints she sees arranged neatly to one side. His hand is still poised above the surface of the paper-- _of course he would have paper,_ she thinks--but he quickly puts the stylus down and rises at her approach.

"T'Vhan," he greets her, "Are you well? You appear to be--in some distress."

T'Vhan does not answer. She is too busy staring at him. It is the garment he wears--not his normal student smock but a fine scholar's robe, tinted the color of the palest sands in the Forge. It is exquisitely sewn, beautifully embroidered, obviously new and made for him. Its blatant superiority to her own coarse student dress fills her with unaccountable mortification, like she has been insulted in some manner that only the native-born can understand.

"I am only staring because you look ridiculous in that robe," she says finally, through teeth slightly clenched.

Spock blinks twice, rapidly. "It is the traditional garment worn by Vulcan males while engaged in the study of natural sciences. I fail to see how anyone can appear ridiculous while--"

T'Vhan is not listening. She is thinking about the five inches Spock has grown in the past year, while her own body has stubbornly remained the smallest of any girl in her class. How three months ago he turned fourteen, and with that, somehow, he changed. It is not the robe, but the robe is part of it. The robe is the symbol of what is to come, of the veil of privileged adulthood that is already closing around him.

It would be illogical for her to expect their friendship to continue. It was founded in their mutual status as outcasts--Spock for his human mother, T'Vhan for having been born and lived most of her young life off-planet. But Spock is still the son of Sarek, and the heir to an ancient family. He cannot be allowed to be outcast much longer, and then it will be only be her. T'Vhan, daughter of Andor, misfit of Vulcan.

" _Suus mahna!_ " she blurts out, cutting him off before he tells her any more about traditional clothing.

" _Suus mahna?_ " The tilt of his head is the same as always, when he is perplexed. "I do not understand."

"They have added _suus mahna_ to the scholastic competition." Just saying the words out loud threatens to destroy her composure. "They know I had poor instruction on Andor, and they wish to use it to prevent me from winning."

Spock frowns. "It is in the Junior Academy's best interest to admit the most qualified students. To create a competition for the purpose of excluding a promising candidate is not a logical way to achieve this goal."

T'Vhan is a proper Vulcan girl, so she knows the sound she just made cannot have been one of bitterness or frustration. "You know as I do, Spock, that they do not wish to give a place in the Junior Academy to a Vulcan born and educated off-world."

Spock is silent, and T'Vhan looks down at the impeccable graveled path, at the childish brown tunic she loathes. When he still does not answer, she lifts her eyes again, to find he is also looking at the ground, thinking.

Once, when T'Vhan was twelve and Spock was thirteen, she kissed him in the human manner, out of curiosity about something so strange. She has not thought of it again, almost since that very evening; it has resided in the section of her mind reserved for failed experiments, scientific and otherwise.

Seeing him now, tall and unaccountably changed, dressed in the robe of the man even she must admit he sometimes resembles, T'Vhan wonders how it would be different to make the same experiment today. She suspects the real difference would be that he would not allow it. There are liberties a Vulcan girl may take with a boy who is her friend. However much longer Spock remains her friend, he is done with being a boy.

He looks up, finally, and nods as if in agreement, though T'Vhan has said nothing. He turns back to his table and lifts the lid of the specimen box, releasing the [_kidik-mathra_](), which flutters away in a flash of blue. "You will require different clothing," he says, as he places his stylus and paints neatly into their cases, then lays a sheet of transparent tissue over the unfinished drawing.

T'Vhan watches him, confused. "For what do I require different clothing?"

He looks up from his work, one eyebrow lifted the tiniest fraction. "For _suus mahna_ instruction. It is not customary to wear student dress during this practice." The precious sheets of Terran paper, each one worth more than the robe he wears, disappear into their protective sleeve, which he ties up neatly and puts aside.

He turns to face her again, and T'Vhan swears, though it is impossible, that he is taller. "If you explain to my mother what you require, she will provide you with one of my smaller tunics. I will locate the _lirpax_ I used in my training. If you will meet me beneath the _sher'kha_ tree in ten minutes, we will commence your lessons." Then, as if realizing he forgot a step he adds, "Do you agree to this plan?"

A proper Vulcan girl does not run. A proper Vulcan girl walks sedately, _conveying to the observer the sense of a mountain pool, still as glass, in which all the beauty of Vulcan culture is reflected._

T'Vhan is a proper Vulcan girl. Therefore what she does, as she makes her way through the garden, as she steps inside the house of Sarek in search of Lady Amanda, cannot, by definition, be called "running."

She is simply moving at a rapid pace, as all must do who have far to travel, and friends waiting at their destination.


End file.
